


So Many Good Reasons

by OnceYoungHearts, WckdLttlSnnrs28



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, BDSM, Bondage, Denial of Feelings, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Everyone Is Gay, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Rehabilitation, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceYoungHearts/pseuds/OnceYoungHearts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WckdLttlSnnrs28/pseuds/WckdLttlSnnrs28
Summary: Ryan is forced into rehab after messing up one too many times. It seems like it's going to be a long 30 days, until someone finally piques his interest.
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Ryan Ross/Jon Walker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

Ryan Ross has never been too fond of being in the back of a police car. He's tried to avoid it most of his life, but here he is in one for the second time this week. His legs are starting to cramp from being stuffed into the tight space between the hard divider and the very uncomfortable seats. He isn’t handcuffed this time, and he's thankful for that. The car is parked outside of the Jours Plus Radieux Health and Recovery Facility, where Ryan will spend the next 30 days. 

An officer with a name tag displaying, ‘Wilson’ gets out of the passenger side and opens the door to Ryan’s right. He forcefully grabs Ryan’s arm and starts dragging him to the building’s entrance. Ryan doesn’t feel like he has a problem. He knows he's done some questionable things recently, but a rehab center? Is that  _ really  _ called for? He lets his feet drag against the ground simply to be a dick and slow the officer down. “But Moooom, I don’t  _ wanna _ go inside!” he protests in a whiney voice, trying to make his feet drag even heavier. 

If the officer had any control, he’d punt Ryan into the nearest road to let him get hit by the passing vehicles. Instead he ignores him and opens the front door to the center. If the door happens to hit Ryan a bit, that’s purely an accident.

Inside the building it is very dull, smells of bleach and has all grey everything. Ryan likes his life to be colourful, so standing in the middle of a grey walled room is making him want a drink even worse than being in the cop car did. 

A fresh-looking woman in a nurse’s coat comes out of an office door with a stack of paperwork in her hand. “Hello, you must be George. Have a seat in a chair over there and fill these out for us.” She hands the papers to Ryan, who takes them begrudgingly. 

The officer escorts Ryan to a row of hard white chairs and they both sit down next to each other. 

Wilson gives him a pencil and grunts at him, “Get this shit over with.”

Ryan’s eyes skim over the template and he smirks. He chews the eraser and starts writing.

**Full Name:** Knight George Ryan Ross III

**D.O.B:** 4/20/1969 :)

**Ethnicity:** Alien from Jupiter

**Do you have any medical conditions the staff should know about?:** Broken fucking wrist. There’s an ugly ratfucker breathing down my neck. Other than that, I am a god among men in peak physical condition.

**Why are you here, in your own words?:** Because my parole officer said it was this or prison, and the food in jail sucks ass.

After finishing the questionnaire he stands up and shoves it under the small slot at the office window. 

The receptionist doesn't look at it and tells Ryan that a person will be there shortly to search him. The waiting period feels like forever, but eventually there is a large beefy man that takes Ryan to a private room with no windows or cameras. It just has a small table and a box of gloves. “Strip,” the man commands. 

Ryan’s eyes bulge out his head, “What? The fuck, I am not!” 

“Strip or I will make you strip.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and pulls off his shirt. “Yeah? This what you like?” he smirks, running his finger tips down his flat chest and down part of his stomach. “Watching young men at their most vulnerable… Probably makes your dick wet.” The man ignores Ryan, watching him with bored eyes. 

Ryan huffs and begins to unzip his jeans. “What, gonna search me for weapons? Drugs? Honey, the only crack you're going to find in my pants is my asscrack.” He pushes his pants and underwear down expertly, kicks off his shoes and steps out of his garments. “May I keep my socks on, sir? I like to keep my feet warm when I take it from behind…”

The man growls out, “Shut the  _ fuck up _ and squat.”

Ryan tenses up and scrunches his nose. He obliges, squatting only slightly. The man pulls a glove on and spreads ryans ass cheeks. He feels so fucking exposed and in need of a shower, but he would never expect the next thing the man tells him to do. “Cough.”

“What the fuck? I am  _ not doing that  _ you sick perveted fuck!” Ryan yells and stands up, covering himself with his hands. 

“If you'd like to play it your way, I could bring more people in here that will hold you down while I search you. Squat and cough and it'll all be over with.” Ryan gets the distinct impression that this guy enjoys the power he holds.

He lets out a shaky breath and does as he was told. After coughing four times, his throat feels raw and tired. The man makes him stand up again and leaves the room. He comes back a few minutes later with a bundle of clothes: grey socks, grey underwear, grey sweatpants and a grey grey grey hoodie.

He sets the clothes on the table and says, “I'll leave to give you some privacy.”  _ Ironic, _ Ryan thinks,  _ sure as damn didn't give a shit about my privacy before.  _

The guy leaves and Ryan changes into the clothing, looking longingly at the ones he had on prior. Something’s telling him he won’t ever see them again. He yells through the door that he's done and the nurse from earlier opens it. “We’ll give you shoes later, time to show you to your room so you can meet your roommate. Afterwards, I'll show you to the group therapy room. Follow me.”

Ryan shuffles down the hall after the lady. He can’t figure out how she knows where she’s going since every door and hallway looks the same, and there are no directional signs to speak of. She comes to a halt outside of the door to room 37, and holds it open for Ryan to enter. 

The interior is somehow even more bland-looking than the rest of the center had been so far. Of course they weren’t allowed to bring any belongings, so the lack of decorations coupled with the grey sheets and walls feels like a prison cell. Ryan had chosen to come here rather than jail, and he’s starting to regret that more and more with each passing moment. 

In the room there are two beds, each identical other the fact that the left one has a man sitting on it. Ryan’s mind instantly absorbs the information that the man has a handsome face, is skinny and his beard is very overgrown like a caveman. He looks not too much older than Ryan, and he seems as if there's absolutely nothing wrong about him. The nurse exits the room and Ryan sits on his own bed, looking at the other man cautiously. “I’m um... I’m Ryan.”

The guy nods and smirks a little. “I’m 50-Shot Walker. My friends can call me Jon.” He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie to reveal numerous tattoos that Ryan thinks look gang-related. 

_ What the fuck did I do,  _ Ryan smiles nervously and squeaks out, “Nice to meet you... 50-shot Walker?” 

All of the possibilities of why Jon could be called  _ 50-shot Walker  _ play through Ryan’s head and all of them involve Jon shooting someone or being shot. He doesn’t like any of those options, and he really hopes that if that’s the case this wacko would be in prison. 

“Make your bed every morning and don’t snore, and I promise we won’t have a problem,” he says with a cold stare.

Ryan nods and laces his fingers together, his tight grip making his hands turn white. “Um, so why are you here?” Jon doesn’t answer and instead watches the door. As if Jon could feel the vibrations of footsteps, the nurse opens the door.

“Hi again boys! Group therapy time. Are you two best friends yet? Is there anything I can get you to make you more comfortable, George?” She beams at him and he wonders if she’s this friendly with everyone. Maybe she thinks he’s cute. He can’t get over her using his first name, though.

“Yeah, a fucking drink and some coke. Thanks.”

The nurse frowns, looking at Ryan disappointedly. “Follow me.” If she did think he was cute, she definitely doesn’t now.

Jon and Ryan follow the lady down the hallway to a more spacious room that has a circle full of the same white chairs in the office waiting room. Almost every chair is occupied by skinny and tired men or women all wearing the same clothing. Some people have stains on their hoodies, which bothers the neat freak in Ryan. He sits between a young blonde woman and a slightly chubby brunette man. Jon sits across the room and doesn’t spare a glance at Ryan. 

An older looking man wearing a red sweater sits in one of the empty seats with a clipboard in his hands. His bright appearance stands in sharp contrast to the monochromatic world Ryan is now surrounded by. He smiles at the room and says, “For those of you that are new, I’m Doctor Saporta, your counselor here. We like to do a very AA/NA approach to these sessions where we attempt to come to terms with the problems we have and what these problems stem from. Would anyone like to go first? Jon?”

Jon grumbles, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Hi. I'm Jonathan Walker and I have an addiction to heroin. I've been here 46 days and I still feel like shit. I  _ still  _ get night sweats and I  _ still  _ fucking want herion. I also cope with my lover being shot in a drive-by by drinking excessive amounts of alcohol. Before I came here I served four years in prison for accidentally pushing my mother down the stairs after drinking 50 shots of vodka on a dare. Being in prison is when I became addicted to heroin. I regret it all very very much and would love to go home to my cats.” Jon sighs, looking down at the floor. “I nominate Spencer to go next.”

Spencer, the chubbier man beside Ryan smiles. “Hello! I’m Spencer Smith and I'm addicted to bath salts!” Ryan almost gasps because that guy does _not_ look like he's ever done drugs before. “I’m here because I really want to get better for my mom. I’m self-admitted.” He beams and Ryan begins to wonder if this guy is still high. There is just no way he’s that happy naturally. “I nominate the newby!” he says and points next to him at Ryan. 

Ryan blinks and laughs a little. “Um. Okay, Spencer Smith with a bath salts addiction.” Spencer frowns. “I'm Ryan Ross and I don’t have an addiction,” he shrugs. “I use drugs in moderation. Just because I like to drink and snort a little blow doesn’t mean I’m some fucking junkie.” He looks at Jon when he says the word ‘junkie’. 

The blonde beside him crosses her arms and glares at Ryan. “Everyone here is addicted to something. We all have our problems, and denying it just prolongs your recovery.”

He shrugs indifferently. “I didn’t say I’m perfect. I’m here because I mixed whiskey and cocaine and drove my car into an 18-wheeler while on the wrong side of the road. The doctors said I’m very lucky to be alive, but it was a fluke. I get high all the time and people rarely get hurt. But it was either come here, _ get better _ , or face a prison sentence. So fucking hi.” The blonde girl scoffs, but the counselor cuts in before she can comment again.

“That’s a great first step, George-”

“Ryan. No one’s allowed to call me George.” His voice comes out icier than he’d intended, but he doesn’t want the others thinking it’s a funny joke to call him that.

Dr. Saporta nods in understanding, making a note on his clipboard. His eyes linger on the sheet a few extra seconds as a small smile forms on his face. “Thank you for sharing, Ryan. You look very good for your age, by the way.” Ryan remembers his intake form, but the others just study him with curiosity. He crosses his arms and slouches further into his chair, trying to be as invisible as possible. “Since you haven’t gotten to know everyone yet, I’ll nominate the next person. Z, since you seem to want to speak today, care to take over?”

The blonde girl next to him sighs and sits forward. “Hi, I’m Zberg and I have an addiction to prescription painkillers. I’ve been clean for three weeks since I OD’d and woke up in the hospital. I’m technically here voluntarily, but my parents really don’t make it feel that way.” Ryan studies her face as she speaks, finding it hard to care about her words. Everyone here is dull and clean cut. So far his roommate’s the only one that intrigues him. 

Dr. Saporta claps and stands up. “That was great. Does anyone else want to share today? The floor is open.” No one moves or says anything. “Anyone struggling? Made any breakthroughs?” More silence. “Okay, that’s enough for today then. You have twenty minutes of free time before we start arts and crafts hour.”

Everyone gets up and starts heading back to their rooms. Ryan catches up with Walker, being careful to keep a decent amount of space between them. “Was that a fucking joke? I thought this was rehab, not preschool.”

Walker throws him a glance over his shoulder. “He’s dead serious. If you’re lucky we’ll get to glue macaroni to things today. That’s the most fun.” Ryan can’t tell from his dry tone if he’s serious or not.

Ryan flops onto his bed, finding it just as rigid and unforgiving as he’d expected. Jon is sitting on his own bed, looking like he’s meditating or something, and Ryan doesn’t think it would be smart to interrupt. There is absolutely nothing to do in his room, so he decides to wander the halls. It’s been less than an hour and he’s already bored out of his mind. 

A few of the other patients’ doors are open, and he walks past a few, peeking in to see them looking equally bored. Eventually he comes upon an open door with a few people inside, and they’re actually having a conversation. He recognizes the guy who likes bath salts, the blonde girl, and one other girl from the group who didn’t talk.

Ryan stands at the door awkwardly and sees the girl he doesn’t recognize, who has bleach blonde hair and very plucked eyebrows, touching the other girl, Z’s, arm. He doesn’t think much of it and just assumes they’re close.

In the next room he sees a couple of nurses setting tables up, assorted crafts on each one. He rolls his eyes and keeps walking until he gets to the common room. When he arrives he sits in one of the grey couches and pulls a magazine off the table beside him. Flipping through the pages he notices there's tears and patches rubbed off the colour. The date on the front of it says it’s from 2016. An outdated magazine. How pathetic. 

He struggles on for a while, catching up on irrelevant news he never cared enough to read at the time it happened. Eventually, someone over a speaker says, “All patients to the crafts room.”

Everyone in the room stands and starts walking like zombies down the hallway. In order to not get lost, he follows them. The craft room has basic tables with four chairs at each, and he has a moment of discomfort where he doesn’t know who to sit with. People seem to have seats they gravitate towards, and unsurprisingly, the one next to Jon is vacant. 

Ryan shuffles over and slips into the empty chair, staring at the art supplies on the desk in front of him. “We’re painting?” Ryan asks Jon without enthusiasm. 

Jon breaks the first smile Ryan has seen from him. “You’re going to love it. Finger painting.”

Ryan frowns, realizing for the first time that there are no brushes on the table. “You have to be fucking with me.”

“When Smith got here, he was still pretty fucked up. He stabbed someone with a paintbrush and we haven’t been allowed them since.” Ryan’s eyes cut over to where Spencer is sitting, once again shocked by anything new he heard about that guy. “Prepare to get dirty, Ross.”

Ryan picks up the red colour on the tip of a finger and starts to draw as detailed a murder scene as he can manage with the limited resources. He definitely doesn’t consider himself an artist, but the message seems to get itself across. Jon quirks half a smile at it, and the nurse in charge of overseeing their crafts makes a disapproving tutting noise, so he counts it a success. 

They play soothing elevator music over the speakers, and Ryan can feel his jaw clenching as the cd loops for a third time. Nothing about this place feels relaxing, or makes him want substances any less. If anything, a little coke would make this a more enjoyable experience.

He finishes his painting and starts taking stock of the other patients. Their dull personalities aside, few are physically attractive either. He mentally calculates how many days it’s been since he had sex, and suddenly his intense irritability makes a lot more sense. He was never addicted to drinking or drugs, despite what the court wanted to believe. All he needs is a good lay and everything will be sorted.

He considers and discards all the girls. Even the pretty ones look uptight, and like they wouldn’t keep it secret. The large sign immediately in his line of sight proclaims, “Any and all sexual contact will result in punishment,” and he’s finding it hard to imagine what could be worse than the regular treatment they’re already getting. The convenient option would be his roommate since they’re alone all night, but Jon doesn’t seem to be warming up to him very quickly. 

The others finish up their pathetic attempts at sunsets and dogs, and their pieces are placed on racks to dry. The nurse ushers them out, instructing that it’s time to eat. Ryan feels less than enthusiastic about the prospects of good food in this place, but he falls into line with the rest of them.

The plastic trays and lack of knives remind him of his highschool cafeteria. The food manages to be slightly better than expected, but he doesn’t have much of an appetite. 

The rest of the day passes in an unmemorable blur of grey tones and boredom. Each minute feels like an hour, and Ryan almost starts to regret getting into the wreck. Maybe just the getting caught part.

At lights out, which is a real thing apparently, they’re given a bed time like small children, he lays in his bed and thinks about how best to figure out if he has a chance with Jon. “So, you’ve been in here for a while.”

Jon nods and he can only just make it out in the light from the window. Ryan presses on, “How do you deal with… not getting any?”

Jon rolls over on his side to look at Ryan across the room. “I’ve managed to sneak some in a couple times. Just enough to keep going.” 

Ryan’s brows raise, and he feels impressed with Jon’s sneaking ability. “Wow. How do you manage to get someone in here?”

“They don’t come in, we just meet at the windows. I made arrangements before I got in here.”

“Oh.” Ryan’s disappointment colours his voice. “You’re talking about drugs.”

Jon pauses for a second. “Is that not what you meant?”

“Nevermind.” Ryan rolls over to face the wall. There’s silence for a few seconds before he feels a hand on his shoulder, and Jon pulls him onto his back before climbing onto his bed and straddling him. 

“Tell me I’m not wrong again,” Jon says with a gruffer voice than he’d had before. 

Ryan exhales and grabs his neck, pulling him down into a crushing kiss. He pushes his hips up towards Jon’s, and Jon moves to lay down on top of him, pushing a leg between Ryan’s to get better friction. They rock against each other for a few moments, Ryan finding himself grateful for the sweatpants for the first time since he put them on. He finishes first, raking his nails down Jon’s back beneath his shirt as Jon thrusts a few more times. 

A few short breaths later, Jon’s weight disappears from above him, and he’s back on his own bed as if nothing happened. Ryan adjusts himself in his underwear, wondering if he should just take them off, but he starts to drift off to sleep before he can find the energy.

\--------------

Ryan’s second and third days went by way better than the first. Everything was still painfully dull, and the staff treated them like unintelligent children, but the frequent orgasms he was getting from Jon, and the promise of more drugs in his near future was making things bearable. 

The fourth day is off to a rough start. Breakfast is some kind of omelette that seems to be undercooked, and Ryan can’t get more than the first bite down. He’s sitting next to Jon, as has become the habit. They don’t talk a lot, but having a friendly face around is comforting. 

Ryan’s plan for the day is to make Spencer lose his shit. He keeps hearing stories about the guy going wild, but since Ryan’s gotten here he’s seemed disappointingly normal. He studies Spencer who’s sitting across from him at the table. He has a perpetual smile, and it’s so unlike anyone Ryan’s ever known, he has a hard time believing it. 

“So, Spence, do you miss anything about bath salts?” Jon shoots him a look like he’s asking for trouble, and that’s exactly what he’s trying to do. 

Spencer’s smile turns softer, and he lowers the fork with wet eggs back to his plate. “I miss everything about it. The happiness, the excitement, the overwhelming love you feel for other people. It’s like the further I get away from it, I can only remember the good times. I know there were scary things, and times I probably could have died, but it almost feels worth it for the high.” 

Ryan saves this information for later, but now Spencer seems all reflective and sad, so there’s not much hope of getting him to explode. He can see Jon shaking his head almost imperceptibly, but Ryan’s just looking for some entertainment. He opens his mouth to make some inciting comment his brain hasn't fully formed when the intercom system kicks on, and they're told to return to their rooms immediately. 

Ryan makes a confused face at Jon. "What's up with that?" He's been there for a few days and everything has been so boring, that announcement almost sounded worried.

"Ehh it happens. Usually means they're bringing in a troubled patient who's going to make a scene. They don't want our fragile minds to be influenced by bad behavior."

Ryan cocks an eyebrow, intrigued. He still follows Jon back to their room, but once they arrive he gets too curious. He lets Jon go into the room before closing the door, and sneaking off down the hall towards the building's entrance.

There aren't many places to hide in the empty halls with no furniture, but he manages to find an empty room and hides in it, just pulling the door shut enough so he can still see through the crack. 

There's a noise he can hear, first in the distance and then getting closer. It sounds like screaming, but so loud and aggressive that it seems almost like an animal being attacked. By the time he can see movement, the screams are ear piercing, but he can make out words every so often. "... fucking raging shit munchers… die a violent death…"

He watches as more than six guards wrestle the newcomer down the hall. He's flailing and kicking at them with all he's got, and one of the guards is holding his nose while blood drips out. It looks a little crooked and Ryan's pretty sure the patient managed to break it. He's a little jealous this guy managed such a grand entrance when his involved one cop dragging him while he went limp.

Ryan waits until the sounds fade off into the distance of the corridor before sneaking back to his room. Jon's just laying on his bed, and turns to look at him without saying anything when he enters. Ryan smirks at him. "Looks like something fun is finally happening here."


	2. Chapter 2

Brendon's mind is spinning faster than he can control. Every light is too bright, and the scenes outside the window are blurring and morphing into a terrifying nightmarescape. He can't feel his body, and he's not convinced that everything he’s seeing is real. 

These images keep snapping from one to another, and he can't tell which is actuality and which are hallucinations. Perhaps none of it is real. Maybe  _ he  _ isn’t even real. 

The movement outside of the car stops, but he feels like he's falling. Falling and falling and falling. 

The only sound in his ears is the rush of his blood being pumped far too quickly. 

The surroundings change and everything is now white. He briefly wonders if his parents were correct about heaven all along, before he becomes aware of the monsters trying to drag him. 

They must know he doesn't belong here, and want to take him to hell. 

He fights as best he can, but there are too many of them, and they're all so, so strong. Every strike he makes against them seems futile, and all he can do is curse them to the same fate he's going to receive. 

They're holding him down and saying something, but he can't make out their strange words. Everything turns to black. Finally...

\--------------

When Brendon comes to the next day, it’s already noon.

He sits up on his bed and rubs his face, looking around the small room. There's only one bed, a large window with a gate over it, and a small grey desk. He frowns, rubbing his eyes. Brendon's never been a fan of colour, however, it's hard to cope with all of the mutedness of everything. 

He shifts his legs off the bed and stands up. He notes that he’s wearing unfamiliar clothes that match the surroundings, and he walks over to the desk to grab a pencil out of a small cup of office supplies. He smirks at the sharpness and ponders briefly if it would be effective enough to use as a weapon, before shoving it back in the cup and walking to the door. 

Just as his hand touches the handle, the door is thrust open and he has to stumble backwards to avoid being hit. A shorter man wearing a lab coat, that just barely shows a glimpse of tattoos on his wrists, pokes his head in and looks around in a panic. 

"Oh, you're awake. Great." His eyes cut over to the desk where Brendon was looking at the pencil. "You weren't meant to be left alone here. But uh, nothing bad happened, so I guess we're fine."

Brendon stares at him in confusion, still at a loss for where he is and what's happening. He's pretty convinced this isn't hell, although he hasn't completely dismissed the idea. 

"So," the man claps his hands and steps farther into the room, seemingly unafraid of Brendon. “Welcome! This is The Jours Plus Radieux Health Center, and I'm so glad you could spend some time with us. We'll get you all fixed up in a jiffy." Brendon's now pretty sure that he's still high. This guy isn't making any sense, and parts of that didn't even sound like English. "My name is Dr. Wentz, and I'm the chief care provider at this fine establishment. I can't wait for you to begin your healing journey."

Brendon opens and closes his mouth a few times before managing to form a question. His brain is racing with dozens of them, and they all seem tangled together with no real starting point. "Right. So… What the fuck?"

Dr. Wentz smiles patiently at him and grabs his shoulder in a friendly way. He tries to lead him into the hallway before Brendon shakes him off and walks with him. "Okay, let me speak slowly." He takes on the tone of one who is speaking to a small infant. "You do drugs. Drugs bad. You stay here until you no do drugs. Got it?" 

Brendon's hands are curling into fists before he realizes what he's doing. He doesn't get much further than pulling his arm back before someone is grabbing him from behind and restraining him. 

Dr. Wentz turns around to see Brendon's murderous glare and makes a tutting sound. "I'm going to chalk that up to the dirty little drugs that are still in your system. If you continue to be violent, you will be locked in solitary confinement for up to two days." Dr. Wentz leans in with a smile on his face that has turned sharper. "Just give me a reason." 

Brendon takes a deep breath and relaxes until the guard lets him go. Clearly he's still being closely watched and will have to behave until he can actually get away with things, though the urge to punch the doctor's stupid face is stronger than ever.

They continue down the hallway until Dr. Wentz stops outside of one of the doors. "This will be your first group therapy session. After it's over, Dr. Saporta will show you to your room and tell you some basic rules. I hope you have a lovely stay here." He pushes the door open and gestures for Brendon to enter.

The room has a group of people. in the same grey outfit he's wearing, sitting in a circle. He quickly scans the room, noting the distinct lack of hot people. One guy catches his eye, slightly thinner than his usual type, but he figures he’ll do. Brendon skips over faux-cheerfully and plops down in his lap, ignoring the empty chair they’d left for him. The guy makes a shocked sound but his hands come to rest on Brendon’s hips and he doesn’t push him away, so Brendon counts it as a win. “Okay, I’m ready to get this party started,” he announces to the doctor who’s leading the meeting. 

Dr. Saporta’s face turns very quickly from a smile to a slightly horrified grimace. “Uh… Hello, newcomer.” He forces a small smile again and looks at Dr. Wentz with a ‘what the fuck’ expression. Wentz shrugs, spinning on his heels and walking away, closing the door on his way out. 

Dr. Saporta blinks down at his clipboard, utterly at a loss for words, and clears his throat. “S-so.. newbie, would you like to share first? We go in circles and--” He's cut off when Brendon begins to speak.

“Yeah yeah, I know. This ain’t my first rodeo. My name is Brendon Boyd Urie,” he drapes an arm around the lanky man's shoulders, “and I’ve got an addiction.” He makes a dramatically pouty face, jutting out his lips. 

Dr. Saporta takes a deep breath before asking, “Which is..?”

“Oh, funny you should ask that!” Brendon chirps, sitting up straighter, his ass digging into the man's lap painfully. “Dick!” 

It's almost immediate, the room gasps in unison, and faces turn crimson like someone just took their pants off. Dr. Saporta chokes on his air and looks at the floor embarrassedly “That's.. Mister Urie, that is not what you’re here for. And that is highly inappropriate. We ask that you please respect others and use PG language.”

Brendon grins sweetly and nods, bouncing slightly while doing so and digging his ass bones into the stranger harder. “Okay, I’ll be a good boy. I  _ promise _ .” 

Dr. Saporta’s face still hasn't recovered and he looks at Ryan, who just happens to be Brendon Urie’s temporary chair, pleadingly. “Moving on, let's go down the line. Ryan, would you like to share now?”

\--------

Ryan takes a second to respond to his name, attempting to pull his attention back from the man on his lap. He was certain Brendon had noticed the death grip he had on his hips, and the small gasps he was making whenever Brendon bounced up and down. “Uh, yeah. Love to.” He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice even. “Totally making lots of progress. All of the outside world problems seem so insignificant now. Why do people even take drugs, am I right?” He forces out a fake laugh. “Can I be excused to the bathroom?” 

He squirms a little in his seat as Dr. Saporta smiles at him encouragingly. “Of course Ryan, that’s great to hear. Thank you for sharing your truth.” Ryan shifts out from Brendon and rotates all in one movement, hoping no one noticed what was happening in his pants. He was pretty sure he could hear Brendon snickering as he escaped as quickly as his feet would allow.

By the time Ryan gets himself back under control and returns to the group, it seems like they are already wrapping up. Everyone in the circle begins to stand, and Jon walks over to Ryan with a bored expression. “Do you know that guy?”

“No, I have no fucking clue who that is,” Ryan breathes out in a slightly mortified voice, “and I hope to fucking Jesus he doesn’t know me either.”

Jon scowls, glancing over at Urie who's at the snack table rubbing his hands all over packages of nuts like a crazy person. “He seems like a nut job.”

Ryan bursts out laughing and Jon looks at him with a furrowed brow. Ryan wipes his eyes, then points at Brendon. “Nut Job??? And he's-” When he sees the slightly angered look in Jon's eyes he pipes down, wiping the smile from his face and dropping his arm to his side. “Know what? Forget it; it's nothing…” He bites his lip and back at Brendon, who is now looking at him with dead, cold eyes. Ryan feels a chill creep up his spine and shudders.

There's a noise from above, and the intercom comes on to tell the patients to report to the arts and crafts room immediately. Brendon had squeezed his eyes closed when the system came on, and now that it's off he's looking around the room almost like he's checking to make sure other people heard the voice too. He drops the package of nuts he was holding before picking them back up and thrusting them into the pocket of his ugly grey sweatpants. Brendon watches with wondering eyes as some of the people file out of the room until Dr. Saporta approaches him and says something. Ryan doesn’t realize he’s been zoned out staring at him until Jon gives his shoulder a shove, effectively snapping him out of his daze.

Jon clears his throat, giving Ryan a pointed stare. “It's finger painting day again. I call shotgun.”

\------------

In the time it took Jon to steal all the best paint colours from the other tables, Brendon had slipped into the seat next to Ryan. Ryan tries to apologize with his eyes as Jon huffs a sigh, sitting across from him instead as he opens up his finger paints. He looks like he’s barely keeping his rage under control, and Ryan makes a mental note to beg for his forgiveness later.

Brendon is happily perched on his stool, his hands in between his thighs and gripping onto the edge of the wooden seat. “You were so comfy…” he whispers, biting his lip, looking at Ryan with playful eyes.

“You ‘was even more comfy when you got a woody for me…” Brendon grins when Ryan looks at him appalled. Brendon shimmies his shoulders foxily. “So... Whadda we doing? Finger painting?” He groans, closing his eyes and he grips the stool tighter to the point of his knuckles turning pale. “I bet you're so good with your fingers,” he says perversely, lolling his head back a bit. “I just can't wait to see your…” his eyes pop open and he looks at Ryan again, “masterpiece.”

Brendon’s tongue darts out to lick over his lips as one of his hands releases the stool and slowly creeps towards Ryan’s crotch. Ryan grabs Brendon’s wrist before he’s even gotten close to him, yanking him closer to whisper in his ear. “If you fucking touch me again without permission, I will castrate you so quickly you’ll think Jesus himself did it,” he growls.

When Ryan lets go of him, Brendon’s face is tinted slightly pink and he gulps. “Y-yes sir, I’ll keep my hands to myself… Won't be a problem… I do like touching myself.” Ryan exhales through his nose, eyeing Brendon up and down before returning to his painting.

Brendon shakes his arms a tad, looking directly at his canvas. He takes a deep breath and grabs a red paint, just fucking squirting that shit into his palm. “If I rubbed this on my face and screamed that the bitch beside me stabbed me, do you think I could get them into Solitary?” he asks Ryan, who blinks at Brendon with a perplexed expression. Brendon looks at him and laughs, rolling his eyes. “What? I can get you hard in group therapy, but me threatening someone's time here surprises you? You're a puzzling man, Ryan. If that's even your real name…” He squints at him and turns his head back to his canvas. He dips a finger into his palm, gathering red paint and beginning to create a large, cartoonishly bad dick and balls on his canvas. He occasionally glances over to see what Ryan’s working on, but he looks like he can’t tell what it is. Ryan’s trying to ignore him, so Brendon pouts and pouts until finally asking, “Just what in the fuck are you painting?”

Ryan looks at him, faking alarm. “Um... you can't tell?”

He furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head and slumping his shoulders. “No.”

“I think you're losing your eyesight or something; it’s clearly a frog,” Ryan says with all the conviction in the world.

“Frogs aren’t fucking triangular!” Brendon shouts, rage momentarily flickering in his eyes. He flinches when a guard shushes him, and he whispers a small ‘sorry’ in response. 

“Well, mine are. I think you're too busy living in society's world, Brendon. You need to get in touch with your inner creativity and imagination.”

Brendon looks confused, and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly. “W-what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh c’monnn, think about it! Think really hard.” Ryan can’t keep the smirk off his face.

“I’m fucking trying and you just wont-”

“Think harder Brendon,” Ryan commands. 

Brendon slams his red palm against his canvas, spraying paint all over the table before yelling out, “I fucking am thinking!”

Two guards and a nearby doctor are quick to run over to Brendon, grasping his arms tightly and pulling him off of his stool. Brendon shrieks, swatting at the white coats and getting red all over them. They inject a sedative, and Brendon’s eyes manage to lock on Ryan accusingly just before they droop shut.

Brendon’s body goes limp in the guard’s arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Ryan felt so satisfied watching the guards knock Brendon out. That feeling had lasted through most of the day, and while he started to doubt that decision during the boring monotony of the remaining hours before Brendon was released from solitary, seeing the pure rage in the other man’s eyes when he first laid eyes on him again made it all worth it. 

Brendon seems slightly calmer now, all of the drugs he’d been on when he entered the facility finally out of his system. He enters the cafeteria just as Ryan is finishing eating his breakfast. Ryan has almost gotten used to the food in this place, but some meals are still inedible. `

Brendon sits in the farthest open chair from Ryan, doing nothing but staring at him without blinking. Ryan tries to hide his smirk as he returns his attention to Jon. “I can’t believe they let him back in here. The dude seems totally unstable,” Jon says, glancing at Brendon over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, because the rest of us are so well adjusted,” Ryan deadpans. Jon’s lip twitches and he looks down at his tray, barely concealing a hint of a smile. Ryan gasps, dropping his plastic spoon. “Your mouth!”

Jon shoots his eyes back up to Ryan and frowns, “What, is there pudding in my beard again? Fuck-”

Ryan shakes his head, smiling almost fondly at the man. “Oh, no, your beard is just fine.” He glances over to Brendon, realizing that the crazy fuck is  _ still  _ putting fire to Ryan with his eyes. He quickly looks back at Jon, who’s wiping his mouth with a napkin. Ryan clears his throat, “So, I've been here almost a week now, and I was thinking. We’ve been giving each other so many handjobs, and I think that we should take this a step further.” He feels a little wave of nerves pass over him as he waits for Jon’s reaction.

Jon looks confused and he places his plastic cutlery neatly in the little slot for them on the tray. “Im not gonna be your boyfriend if that’s what you’re fuckin’ asking.”

“No-” Ryan laughs,”N-not that. I was thinking we could have sex. If you want to.”

Brendon gets up from his seat, walking over to Ryan and Jon’s table. He sits about 4 chairs away from them, staring at the floor now. Ryan tries to watch him out of the corner of his eye as he focuses on Jon.

“Uh, sure,” Jon mumbles, making a slight face. “I dont bottom, though. So...”

Ryan’s carefully neutral expression falls, and he's about to say something in response when he suddenly sees motion in his peripheral vision. He watches in shock as an opened cup of pudding hits Jon right in the cheek, getting brown all over him. It seems that all of the other patients start to laugh loudly in unison, the sound pounding in Ryan’s ears as his brain tries to catch up with what’s happening. 

Jon looks furious, and he glares over towards Brendon's direction where the pudding was thrown. 

Ryan gasps when he kicks back into motion, and he leans over the table with a napkin, blotting at Jon’s grey t-shirt to get the pudding off. “Who threw that?”

“I think it was your little friend,” Walker says, wiping the brown goo off his face. 

“Who?” Ryan turns his head and looks to the side, his mouth forming a thin line. “Oh.”

Brendon rises from his seat and walks over to Jon. Once there. He grabs Jon’s hair and slams his face down into his tray with a cold look in his eyes. Ryan gasps, and everyone falls eerily silent. Every eye in the room watches as Brendon is dragged away by guards to, yet again, his solitary room. He doesn’t struggle at all, looking resigned to his fate.

Ryan gets out of his seat and runs around the table to fix Jon. Jon’s nose is bleeding, and he’s covered in chocolate. Ryan can’t help but think Jon looks so, so cute with all the food on him, and if it wasn't for the rules he'd totally lick it off. Call it an obsession, but he really likes Jon 50-shot Walker.

They go to the closest bathroom and work together to get the mess off his face at the sink. Ryan knows that a guard watched them come in here, but he also figures that this could be his only chance. Jon’s vulnerable, hurt, and angry, and Ryan can smell an opportunity from a mile away. 

While patting around jon’s bloody nose with a piece of toilet paper, Ryan says, “I’ll let you fuck me, if you promise I can fuck you too.” 

Jon hisses a little and knits his brows when Ryan presses just a little too hard against his nose. He grunts, “Sure, I guess. Fine. Deal.”

Ryan smiles and leans a little closer to whisper, “I’d even let you have me right now if it would make you feel better.”

The bloodied man laughs softly. “That sounds like an offer I don't want to refuse… Think you could take me?”

Ryan’s head flashes with horrible images of pain and Jon being too rough on him, but he nods and forces his smile to stay afloat. This is what he wanted. “Y-yeah, I’m a big boy…I can take it.”  _ I think.  _

In a swift movement, Jon has Ryan turned around and pinned to the sink. Ryan looks at himself in the scratched up mirror before focusing on Walker’s reflection while his sweatpants get tugged over his ass. Ryan’s preference is not to bottom, in fact he usually refuses to do it, however handjobs are just not cutting it, and he knows no matter how painful it is, it’ll feel so much better than Jon’s rough hands. 

When Ryan’s underwear gets pulled down, he grips the sides of the sink. There’s a rustle of the other man’s clothes and Jon pushes Ryan down, his hand on the back of Ryan’s neck. 

Ryan bites his tongue when Jon pushes into him with nothing more than a bit of spit and sweat. He’s going agonizingly slow, but Ryan can feel every nerve ending in his body reacting to it. In his mind, he’s cursing, screaming, and kicking, but on the outside he glares at the mirror and fights the urge to elbow Jon. 

Just when it’s starting to get better and Jon has begun to thrust steadily, the door opens and a red-eyed Brendon Urie stands in the doorway. Brendon gasps, blinking at them as Jon pulls out of Ryan quicker than Ryan can spell his own name. Ryan stumbles forward, trying to pull his pants up and he looks at Brendon with horrified eyes.

Urie shuts the door with a shaky hand, and Ryan can just barely hear Brendon tell someone, “Oh, sorry! I don’t need to pee anymore. My bad. I guess I just needed to walk to the bathroom. Thank you, yeah, I can go back to the room now. Thank you.”

Ryan puts a hand over his face when he hears the footsteps walking away. 

Jon is standing opposite of him chuckling heartily, obviously thinking this situation is hilarious. All Ryan can think is _ we’re fucking doomed _ .

\---------

“Why wouldn’t he fucking tell on us?” Ryan snaps. The door to their room slams and Jon crosses his arms, rolling his eyes at the panicking Ryan. 

“If he was going to, he’d’ve told that guard that was with him. Plus the dude is batshit, so no one will believe him.” Jon sits on his bed and watches Ryan pace with a bored expression. “Are you going to be over this anytime soon? I think you promised me an orgasm.”

Ryan stops in his tracks, turning slowly to face Jon as he immediately forgets what he was worried about. “We do seem to have some free time.” His voice sounds deeper to his own ears as he remembers what had been interrupted. Ryan moves to straddle Jon, rolling his hips down into his lap and savouring the low groan Jon emits. 

A knock sounds on their door and Ryan dives back to his side of the room, barely making it to the bed as the door opens. Dr. Saporta’s smiling face peaks in as he looks between the two men. “Ryan, I need you to come with me.”

Ryan’s stomach drops to his ass, figuring Brendon probably told on them after all. He exhales, dreading the prospect of solitary. “Should I bring anything?” he asks, realizing as he says it that he really doesn’t have any belongings to speak of.

“Nope. Just your wonderful self is enough,” the doctor replies. 

Ryan follows him into the hallway, thinking the doctor is acting pretty strangely if he’s come to punish him. “What is this about exactly?” he finally asks.

“Oh, after each patient’s first week it’s mandatory to have a one on one councilling session. I’m just going to check in and see how your progress is going.” Ryan silently nods his understanding and enters Dr. Saporta’s office, taking the seat opposite the desk. 

He’d never been to a proper therapist before, but he’d always pictured one of those long couches the doctor would make you lay on to talk about your feelings. Luckily this was slightly more straightforward than that. 

Saporta sits at his desk and pulls a file out of a cabinet drawer. He places a pair of dark framed glasses on his nose and clears his throat, shuffling his papers together loudly. “So, Mister Ross.” Ryan glares at him and crosses his arms, pursing his lips. The doctor smiles politely back. “When you first arrived you were very pessimistic. How do you feel after being here a week? Any doubts? Concerns? Anything I need to know?”

Ryan pushes his lips up to his nose and shrugs. “Nah, I’m enjoying my time here alright, and I think I’m improving,” he lies. “I’ve bonded with my roommate and made a few more friends around the halls. I don’t even feel the need to drink anymore.” He smiles a very fake looking smile and he taps the inside of his arm to pass his time. Truth be told, he hasn’t stopped wishing he could get high for a single second, but now that it’s the topic of conversation, he feels his skin crawl with want. His breath comes quicker and his heart picks up at the idea of getting fucked up flooding his mind.

Saporta writes something inside of Ryan’s file and looks back up at him. “Have you seen anyone smuggling illegal, non-prescription medications, or other substances into this facility?”

Ryan shakes his head truthfully, thinking,  _ of course not, if I did I would be blasted by now.  _ “I have not, but if I do, I’ll be sure to report it all to you immediately, sir.”

“What is your stance on patient Brendon Urie?” 

At first Ryan is a bit confused why he’s being asked about another patient. His mind still feels clouded by thoughts of drugs, but when he registers who the doctor is referring to, he shrugs. “He tried to beat the shit- I mean, fuck- sorry,” he grunts and Saporta waves him off like it’s fine. “He tried to break my roommate's nose, and he’s been very touchy with me, but he doesn’t seem like a threat.”

Dr. Saporta nods and says,”Ah, because each time Urie gets restrained I have to have a chat with him. Every time, he seems to say very fond things about you.”

His brows knit and he tightens his arms around his body. “I got him locked in solitary, why would he give a sh-crap,” he grimaces, “about me? I figured he hated me since he attacked my roommate.”

“Well, you see, after looking over Mister Urie’s medical files, it seems apparent that he shows signs of borderline personality disorder. I really shouldn’t be divulging information about other patients to you, but I’m afraid that it seems possible to me that he has formed an attachment to you, Ryan. If he poses any problems with you personally, please report them to me. Actually, if Mister Urie even so much as looks your way, you need to tell me. If he is indeed attached to you this could be very, very bad.”

Ryan feels like there’s a lot the doctor isn’t telling him. Although Dr. Saporta sounds very solemn and concerned for his safety, Ryan Ross has yet again found himself with an opportunity presenting itself. Ryan doesn’t hear concerning factors or warning signs; he hears light bulbs turning on and infinite potential for amusement. 

Ryan simply nods his head and smiles a very small smile to himself. This is going to be a very fun rehab experience.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Ryan, _ he thinks,  _ Ryan, Ryan, Ryan.  _ Brendon curls his knees up to his chest, hugging his shins. He presses his face into his knees and sniffles, trying to get that goddamn image out of his head. “You just met him Brendon; you know better than to get sentimental. Stupid.” He pulls his arm away from his legs and hits himself in the head with as much force as his weak body will allow him. He whimpers and sits up abruptly, screaming a loud and primal scream at his grey walls. He clasps his hands over his ears and he curls back up, letting out a painful sob. “Why can’t I just be fucking normal? Why can’t I-” He jolts when the large metal door to his room opens and a doctor with an overly round face stands in the doorway. 

“Are you alright, patient 228?”

Brendon wipes his eyes and nods quickly. “Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he whispers, looking away from the scary man. “Just gets lonely here. That's all.”

The guy makes a tutting noise and walks out, and Brendon can hear the lock on the door turn. He wonders if he folded his sheet he’d be able to smother himself with it. After a while he decides it wouldn't work, and he lays down on the hard grey cot. 

It feels like hours before he finally falls asleep, and even when he does, he has constant nightmares about things he’d rather forget. He squeezes his pillow, wishing it could hug him back. 

\-------

Brendon Urie feels like a free man. 

Each day spent in solitary felt like absolute hell, but he hadn’t gotten any better at thinking before acting. The smaller food portions, the squalor, and mysterious stains were somehow nothing compared to the silence. He shudders as he changes into a fresh pair of boxer briefs. His roommate, who he is finally getting to actually room with, asks, “Can I look yet?”

Brendon laughs softly and shakes his head, even though the other boy can’t see him. “Almost, justtt, just a second… Okay, you can open your eyes now. Thank you,” he says, releasing the waistband of his sweatpants.

His roommate, Spencer Smith, opens his pale blue eyes and smiles at Brendon. They met on Brendon's first day at the clinic, but they hardly got to interact before Brendon spent 4 hard days in solitary. Even though it’s only his fifth day, he can already tell this place will not be helpful to him in any capacity. 

“It’s really nice to finally get to talk to you; it’s been so damn lonely here without a roomie. After my last one killed himself, I thought I'd be alone forever!” Spencer chirps, a big toothy grin plastered on his square face.

Brendon’s eyes widen and he looks around the room, wondering if it’s haunted. He opens his mouth to speak but Spencer cuts him off, “He just couldn't hang. Oh well, he could, but not like that. I figure you’ll be sooo much more fun to talk to! Do you like to share bedtime stories? I  _ love _ telling stories at night and…”

Brendon zones out while Spencer speaks and he makes a mental note that solitary was way better than this. Brendon Urie no longer feels like a free man.

He's snapped out of his trance when he feels Spencer's hand on his wrist.“Brendon? We gotta go. It’s breakfast call. You alright?”

Brendon blinks and nods. “Yeah, y-eah I'm fine.” He smiles, and Spencer matches him. He’s terrified to see Ryan and Jon together, but there’s really no way to avoid it at this point.

He follows Spencer through the hallway to the cafeteria, and once there they get in line for their trays. Brendon scans the room with his eyes and he begins to grow gradually more and more nervous; he can’t find Ryan. 

Brendon's mind begins to race and he thinks of every possibility as to where Ryan could be. Maybe he’s not arrived yet, although he sees Jon sitting at a table. Perhaps Ryan got checked out, he really has no idea how long he’d already been there. And  _ oh my god what if he hurt himself like Spencer's roommate? _

His blood is pounding in his ears as he works himself up with all the possible scenarios when a hand grips his shoulder and he spins around to find himself face to face with the man he was looking for. “Oh,” he exhales more than says. 

“Hey, long time no see.” Ryan smiles at him, his hand still resting on Brendon’s shoulder. 

Brendons breath gets caught in his throat and his eye twitches. “You're alive!”

Ryan frowns. “Of course I am, silly. Why would I want to die before me and my special boy get to share some alone time?”

Brendons eyes bulge out of his skull and Ryan squeezes Brendon’s shoulder affectionately. 

“You know, Brendon, my legs are just so tired,” Ryan sighs, looking at the other man with an exhausted expression, “could you be a good boy and get a tray and bring it to me? I’ll even let you sit at the same table as me if you do.” 

Urie nods quickly, swallowing and croaking out, “Yeah, y-yeah absolutely, I’ll… Yes.” He smiles and Ryan pulls away from him and walks away without another word.

Brendon watches as Ryan sits at a table away from Jon Walker, who’s surrounded with no empty seats. Ryans is sitting all alone, and Brendon feels so bad for him. He knows exactly what it feels like to be alone, and he makes a mental vow to never let Ryan feel the way he did ever again.

\---------

Jon’s sitting on his bed, pulling a pair of socks on. “Why are you being nice to that shitbag? You remember he fucking attacked me, right?” 

Ryan studies Jon’s face for a few moments. In the days since he learned about Brendon’s obsession with him, he hasn’t been able to find Jon nearly as interesting. He shrugs, unable to form an answer that doesn’t sound selfish. Every motive he has is selfish, and really it just seems like the most exciting option. 

Jon makes a deep growling sound that sets Ryan’s hair standing on end, before leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. 

Ryan goes back to fixing his outfit, doing the most he can to look sexy while wearing the awful sweats. He eventually deems it a lost cause and wanders out into the hall, following the few other patients to the lounge. He immediately spots Brendon curled into a ball on the couch in the back corner, and ignores Jon’s disbelieving stare as he goes over to sit with him.

Brendon’s t-shirt is folded up past his stomach, resembling a crop-top, and Ryan wonders if Brendon knows how hot he is. When he sits down, Brendon shoots him a look of question.

Ryan scoots closer to the man and he rests his arm on the back of the couch behind Urie’s head. “Sorry I’m late, what are we all about to watch?”

“S-some documentary about recovered addicts finding happiness in their new lives. Looney-tooney bullshit scribed for dopes,” he whispers, looking away from Ryan a bit to find Jon, who's sitting on a couch furthest from them. He's staring at Ryan with a betrayed gaze. 

“I don’t plan on watching it anyway. I have better things to watch.” Ryan can see Brendon’s face go red under his gaze and he places his hand on top of the other man’s. “Do you think they’ll turn out the lights? Or will we need to be sneaky?” He slowly leans closer to Brendon’s face until his breath is ghosting over the other man’s cheek. 

As if in answer to his question, the lights in the room dim about halfway, and the movie begins to play. The tv looks like it was made in the 80s, and it is playing from an honest to god vhs machine. Even the opening title screen has sickly sweet music playing, and Ryan’s sure this would be an entertaining movie if he was off his ass on drugs. As it is, he can’t think of anything he’d want to do less. 

Brendon’s legs are bouncing with barely restrained energy, and his eyes keep darting between Ryan and the tv screen. Ryan moves his hand to press down against Brendon’s knee, stilling it. He keeps his eye on the nurses standing by the door, but they seem more consumed in whatever conversation they’re having than they do with the patients. Ryan slowly moves his hand up Brendon’s leg, enjoying the way he gasps before biting his lip and remembering he shouldn’t make any noise.

Ryan puts his lips right up to Brendon’s ear before whispering, “What would you let me do to you, right here where all these people could hear?”

“If it wasn’t for going back to solitary I’d let you fuck my brains out while they all watch, but I can settle for teasing or something less sweaty,” he laughs quietly, keeping his eyes on the screen. 

Ryan flicks his tongue out to run it over the shell of Brendon’s ear. “I bet you’d love that. Seeing how much we could get away with. You’ve wanted me since that first day you sat in my lap in group.” His tone turns sharp, daring Brendon to deny it. “If I did fuck you right here, you’d have lots of time to think about it in that little room all by yourself. Wishing I was there with you.”

Brendon whimpers and crosses his legs. “You were the hottest guy in this facility. How could I not want you? You'd get put into solitary too, you know, I don't think that would be a good idea… You’ve already gotten caught once you really don't need someone of authority seeing you.”

“I wouldn’t call that getting caught. Maybe I wanted you to see it.” Ryan’s not really sure what he’s saying. He figures Brendon is like a dog, and only understands the tone of voice anyway.

Brendon growls a bit and pulls his hand away from Ryan’s, shooting him a glare. “You getting fucked in the ass poses nothing more to me than a reason to kill that son of a bitch.”

“Aww was little Brenny jealous?” He feels like a hunter circling his prey, and he can feel the way his body is reacting to the situation. The grip he has on his self restraint is tentative at the best of times, but now it is wearing thinner than ever.

“Why would I be jealous?” he snaps, “I have no desire to fuck you. He’s just stupid. I’m so not jealous of him, of all people,” Brendon says and leans closer to the arm of the couch, almost like he's trying to pull away from Ryan's body.

“Oh, okay. I guess I was wrong about you.” Ryan summons up all his strength and starts to move to leave. He really hopes this is just a bluff he has to call. He needs to keep the power in this relationship, and backing down now or apologizing would give Brendon the wrong impression.

Brendon watches him with fiery eyes and he curls his hands into fists, pulling his arms up closer to his body. “What, you gonna go fuck Jon Walker in the bathroom again? I’ll fucking tell on you, bitch.”

Ryan pauses, turning to glance back at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He manages to conceal his smirk until he’s plopped down into the seat beside Jon, leaning over to whisper, “You were right,” in his ear. He just wants to appease Jon and make sure he still has that option open if Brendon manages to stay away. He’s pretty confident that won’t happen though, catching Brendon staring daggers at the back of Jon’s head.

\-------

It’s the first night Brendon’s spent in his own room, and Spencer’s soft snoring is grating on his last nerve. The shadows shifting on the ceiling in time with the wind outside seem to blur and form images before his eyes. He sees visions of Walker’s stupid face as he lands punch after punch. He sees Ryan running into his arms and thanking him for dealing with that awful man. Ryan is his damsel and Brendon is the knight in shining armour. 

He lays awake for what feels like days, his eyes only occasionally blinking. 

Eventually he develops his plan to get rid of 50-shot Walker once and for all, and only then does he actually find sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

They haven’t talked in days, and Ryan is beginning to worry that Brendon has lost interest. Other than a few stolen glances whenever they’re in the same room, Brendon hasn’t shown any intention of changing his mind. He’s starting to accept that Dr. Saporta’s observation was wrong, and that Brendon Urie never really cared about him at all.

This is the first day of Ryan's stay that the patients are allowed outdoor time, and he's currently sitting on a bench sunbathing. His eyes are closed and he smiles to himself slightly. He never really gave a shit about the sun before, but he's really missed this feeling of the warmth on his skin and it making the inside of his eyelids red. 

A soft sound of someone clearing their throat near him draws his attention, and he peeks one eye open to see Brendon standing in front of him. He has to suppress the urge to laugh and punch the air in victory. He knew it wouldn't be too long before he came crawling back.

Brendon's eyes are focused somewhere over Ryan's shoulder as he speaks, his voice sounding robotic and forced. "I just wanted to say that I think you're cute, and maybe if you were a better person we could have been, I dunno, friends-" he scrunches his face up and seems to struggle for words, "but you're mean to me, and ma said 'no one's allowed to do that, especially the pretty boys'."

Ryan arches an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

Brendon's eyes narrow to slits and he glares with the most anger Ryan has yet to see in him. "You never take me seriously. That's the problem." Brendon turns on his heel and stalks off, his shoulders hunched and his whole demeanor looking defeated. Ryan stares after him trying to figure out where he went wrong.

Suddenly Jon is sitting down next to him, his eyes also following Brendon's retreating figure as he walks across the yard. 

"What's his deal? He sad you didn't wanna be his butt buddy?" Jon sneers.

Ryan slowly shakes his head, "I honestly have no fucking clue what his deal is."

\-------

Brendon counts his paces as he walks around the yard, making it up to about 49 each time before he loses count and has to start over.  _ Step one, check.  _ He subtly glances over to Ryan and Jon, still talking on the bench.  _ Time for step two. _

The patients barely get any activity, and between that and the cheap shoes he was forced into, Brendon's pretty tired and uncomfortable by the time they're herded back inside. 

He sits on the edge of his bed, bouncing and beaming at Spencer. "What a great day," he says with a huge smile. It's genuine, despite his physical discomfort.

"Yes! Outside is nice, but being inside is nice too! Isn't everything just super nice?"

Brendon's smile slips a bit as he realizes Spencer's being serious. "Yeah. Totally." Brendon flops back on his bed and stares at the ceiling, his smile slowly returning. "Hey Spence, do you know anything about 50-shot Walker?" He tries to keep his tone flat like he did with Ryan. The amount of control he's been using surprises even him.

Spencer sits down in front of Brendon's bed, cross-legged on the floor. "You betcha! What'd ya wanna know?"

Brendon lolls his head to the side to get a glance at his roommate. "Oh, nothing specific. What's he like? What makes him angry? Y'know, the usual."

Spencer taps his chin in a gesture that seems practiced. "Hmm. His favourite colour's black, and he hates when people tell him that's a shade. He likes green beans but not corn. He's a virgo. He used to work at Starbucks, he’s got a kid-"

Brendon sighs and cuts him off, "Okay, but what  _ really  _ makes him mad?" Spencer gives him a weird look and he quickly adds, "Just so I can make sure to never do that. Of course!"

Spencer seems satisfied with that and taps his chin again. "Ooh one time someone said they didn't believe a story he told, and he went mental. Walker got locked up for days and the poor kid who challenged him checked himself out before he was released. That was a good day; we got pie."

The smile Brendon gives Spencer is a little pained, but the other man doesn't notice. He’d rather not get the shit kicked out of him by the big tall scary Walker, however pie does sound nice. 

Spencer stands up and holds out his hand for Brendon, pulling him to his feet and then continuing to hold it. “C’mon, it’s arts and crafts and I really wanna finish the dick I was making out of paper mache.” 

Brendon lets Spencer hold his hand as they walk down the hall, partially because he’s slightly afraid of the other man, and partially because he figures it can’t hurt his quest to get Ryan. They’re the first ones to get to the art room, and Spencer immediately gathers his supplies and gets to work, running his hands over the phallic creation he has made. “Jesus,” Brendon mutters under his breath. He grabs a sheet of paper and some crayons and starts sketching. 

He is too engaged with his drawing to have paid attention to the other patients entering the room, and Ryan plopping down into the seat next to him makes him jump. “Oh, hi,” Brendon greets, startled into talking. 

“Whatcha drawin’?” Ryan sing-songs, trying to catch a glimpse over his shoulder.

Brendon snatches the paper off the table and scrunches it into a ball, shoving it in his pocket before Ryan can look too closely. “Nothing,” he snaps, crossing his arms and glaring. “Was there something you wanted?”

Ryan narrows his eyes and runs them slowly over Brendon’s body. “No. There’s nothing I want here.” He goes over to sit with Jon at another table and Brenodn can’t help his jaw from dropping.  _ What an utter bitch.  _ He carefully checks no one’s watching and smooths his drawing back out, running his fingers over the map of the facility and visualizing his plan of attack.

\---------

“You are seriously so fucking brilliant. I owe you a million sexual favours for this,” Ryan grins, slapping Jon on the back. The corner of Jon’s mouth twitches up and looks pleased. 

“It’s nothing. He brings me a delivery every week. I just had to ask him to throw in a little something for you.”

They can see a shadow pass over the window they’re standing at, and Jon’s fingers start twitching with anticipation. They work together to slide the window open, having to navigate their hands through the iron bars that block it. The guy drops a small parcel down to Jon, and he pockets it, nodding to the guy before shutting the window again.

Ryan looks at Jon eagerly after they get the window shut and Jon huddles close to Ryan. He carefully opens the parcel and hands Ryan a tiny baggie of white powder. Ryan gasps loudly, clasping his hands around it tightly. “An  _ eight ball? _ You got me a fucking  _ eight ball!” _ he whisper-yells, his eyes wide and filled with amazement.

Jon cracks a small smile, which is something he’s been doing a lot at Ryan recently, and nods at him. “Don’t do it all in a week. Space it out. No one needs that much snow, and your tolerance is lower now than you’re used to.”

Ryan squeals with joy and he looks at the bag with almost tearful eyes. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you Jonathan...” 

“Say no more. Let’s go get fucked up.” Jon nods his head down the hall and they quickly walk down it, their excitement barely hidden with the pace of their steps. Jon leads him to an unmarked door and produces a key out of his pocket.

“Wow, you really have this place figured out,” Ryan muses with an impressed tone.

Jon sighs. “Perks of being here for a long time.” He doesn’t sound proud or happy about the fact.

Ryan enters into the dark room as Jon pulls the door closed behind him and switches on a small lamp. The room has couch cushions spread on the ground, but no sign of the couches they came from. Jon immediately sits cross legged on one and rips his bag open, assuming Ryan knows what to do.

Ryan charges over to a window on the far wall and quickly dumps a small amount of his contents onto its sill. He looks around the room for something to card it with, but he finds nothing. He pouts and returns to his coke, trying his best to make two beautiful lines with his pinky. “Before I started talking to you I would have never placed you for a heroin guy.”

Jon snorts, getting his shit all spaced out neatly on another cushion. “I’d say I wouldn’t’ve taken you for a cokewhore, but I totally would've.”

Ryan flips him off and leans down to the sill, placing his thumb against the side of his nose. “If I die from fucked up coke, just know I went happy.” He grins and inhales the first line through his open nostril.

Ryan can feel Jon watching him, so he looks back while blinking his slightly watery eyes. “Do they not drug test here?”

“Rarely, they think their facility is super sound. They have no idea what goes through it or that half of the patients here are still getting shit in. The only thing this place is good for is getting us off hooch. I haven't had a drink in almost a year.”

Ryan quirks a brow and goes for his second line.

Once done he picks up what's left of the remnants with his finger. He turns to Jon and sits on the window sill while rubbing the small amount of powder against his front teeth. He watches in slight horror as Jon ties a yellow band around his arm. “God damn. You're brutal, Walker.”

Jon laughs and pulls his quarter filled syringe up. “Before I got here I used to mix this shit with coke, and then I'd drink to top it all off. So trust me, this isn't brutal.”

Ryan looks away when Jon pushes the needle into his vein, making a small sound just at the mental picture. 

Jon laughs again. “Do needles make you squeamish?”

“N-no, I just get worried seeing you put that brown shit into your body.”

“Be thankful. Don't talk,” Jon says grumpily and drops his needle on the cushion. 

Ryan watches him, biting his tongue and keeping his opinions to himself for once. He won’t piss off the guy that’s his only source of drugs in this godforsaken place. Not yet at least.

Ryan parts the blinds of the window and stares out the window at the passing clouds, feeling better than he has in weeks, and ignoring Jon’s limp body across the room. He has no concept of how much time has passed, but he feels relatively sober by the time he tucks his remaining drugs into the corner of the windowsill and leaves. 

He’s not quite sure what time it is or where he’s supposed to be, so he wanders aimlessly for a bit, reality occasionally spinning around him. He’s spent many days of his life pretending to be sober, and even some funerals, so he doesn’t feel any worry that he’s acting suspiciously. 

When he passes the cafeteria he notices all the patients inside, and quickly backtracks to sneak into the room. His attention is drawn to Brendon sitting up excitedly when he enters, but he slouches again and looks disappointed when he sees who it is. Ryan feels a tiny shred of hurt inside of him, but it’s definitely dampened by the drugs still in his system. He can’t possibly stomach the idea of eating food at the moment, so he takes a spot at an empty table and watches the people. 

He’s spent so much time in his own world since getting here that he still doesn’t know who most of them are. His eyes flit from person to person, and he quickly takes note of how many there are, all with their own problems and lives. He finally pauses on one in particular though. Brendon is still glancing at the door periodically, and perking up when someone comes in. Ryan can’t think of who he could be so excited to see, but something akin to jealousy rages through him at the thought that he’s already found someone else to obsess over. He watches Brendon pointedly, having to blink from time to time when his vision multiplies. Brendon steals a glance his way and Ryan gasps, ducking his head like he's trying to hide. Ryan figures that if Brendon can't see his eyes, he won't think Ryan was staring. He doesn't look back up at the boy until he hears Brendon squeal in delight. Brendon's focused on the man walking through the door, who just so happens to be Jon Walker. Ryan furrows his brows, starting at Brendon with utter disbelief. Brendon puts a hand over his mouth, obviously trying his hardest not to scream or something of the sort.

When Jon sits down next to Ryan with a tray, he can see Brendon clapping.  _ What a fucking lunatic.  _

“God, I almost fell asleep,” Jon grumbles, pushing the tray over to Ryan. “If i eat that slop one more fucking time I’m going to hurl.”

Ryan nods, not really listening to him and continuing to look at the overly excited man at table 7. 

Brendon looks at Jon mischievously and reaches into his pocket. Ryan thinks for sure Brendon's going to somehow pull out a gun, or a blade. However, Urie pulls out a package of peanuts. Ryan frowns, almost disappointed. He was  _ really  _ looking forward to Brendon stabbing his imaginary friend. 

“Ryan,” he hears and he looks over at Jon who looks slightly angered. “Are you even listening to me, dude?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, I was distracted.”

“Yeah, by that fucking wack job. I have no idea why you pay any fucking attention to that guy. He isn’t worth your time Ryan.”

He fights back the urge to ask Jon why he’s any better. “I just zoned out! I wasn’t even looking at him, babe. You know you're the only one here I wanna spend time with.”

Jon gives him a look that says that he doesn’t buy Ryan's bullshit and Ryan sighs defeatedly. With the traces of the coke in his system and Brendon staring at his lover the way he is, Ryan's beginning to get anxious. “He keeps looking at you,” he tells Jon, looking into his eyes. “Is it okay that I'm worried he’ll hurt you again?”

“I think he’s relatively harmless. He’s kept to himself recently.”

Just as Ryan starts to feel a little better, he notices Brendon walking their way. “Fuck, fuck I should have done more coke, I-”

“Ryan, would you please shut the  _ fuck  _ up beofre someone hears you?” Ryan nods and crosses his arms over his chest defensively as he continues to watch Brendon approach. 

When Brendon reaches them, he tucks the package of peanuts into his pocket again slyly. “Hi, I just wanted to come and apologize for the way I’ve acted.” Ryan’s eyes nearly burst as he looks at Brendon, trying to determine if this is actually real life.

Jon glares at the kid and says, “It's fine. Go back to your table; we were having a conversation.”

Brendon's face doesn’t change from his creepily happy smile. “Can I shake your hand?”

_ Oh fuck he's gonna break his fucking hand,  _ Ryan thinks, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. He watches the scene unfold in front of him like he's watching a suspenseful movie. He’s on the edge of his seat. 

Jon shrugs and stands up, “Sure.”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Ryan whispers, trying to pull Jon down.

Jon extends a hand out to Brendon, who does the same but with a closed fist. 

Brendon only opens his hand up when his and Jon’s collide, and Jon almost immediately pulls back with a loud, “What the fuck?!”

Ryan watches in shock as peanuts fall from their hands, hitting the table and skittering to the floor. Jon looks weirded out and shaken, dusting his hand off on his pants quickly. “Are those fucking peanuts? What the fuck is wrong with you? Did your mother drop you on your head? Seriously what the-” Jon's yelling when Brendon flings a fist full of peanuts at his face with his other hand. Jon tries to dodge as they come at him, but he doesn't manage. Jon begins to scream at Brendon, but Ryan can't focus on what he says. His mouth drops open as Brendon pulls out more peanuts, placing a good amount in his mouth.

The kid spits the nuts at Jon, and that's when his roommate seems to go ballistic. Brendon throws his remaining peanuts at Walker, and Ryan can just barely make out the boy muttering, “Die, die, die!” over the screaming from Jon.

Jon runs at Brendon, who yelps and begins sprinting out of the room as fast as his legs can carry him. “Why wont you fucking die? You're supposed to be dying!” Ryan hears, and he blinks to himself. 

He's beginning to think that this is all in his head, and maybe his coke really was spliced.  _ Is this what dying feels like?  _

Brendon suddenly runs back into the room, almost falling on his ass when he hits another patient. Brendon screams when Jon lunges at him and tackles him to the ground.  _ Did he play football in highschool? _ Ryan wonders, watching as Brendon kicks and slaps at Jon to get him off. Brendon gets a look on his face, and he smirks, before rubbing the palms of his hands all over Jon's face. “I hope you get fucking blisters, and suffer the worst death imaginable!” 

Jon pins Brendon's hands down on the ground and he yells in his face, “I’m not fucking allegric to peanuts you dipshit!”

Brendon's excitement falls almost comically, and Ryan comes close to feeling bad when he sees Brendon mouth the word, “Oh.”

The hurt puppy look in Urie's eyes makes Ryan's stomach do flips and he finally gets up from his seat to run to the two boys. Jon keeps Brendon held down, despite Brendon not even fighting anymore. The boy looks defeated and slightly mortified. The nurses standing by seem too entertained by the display to break it up.

“Jon, you're hurting him!” Ryan shouts, pulling at Jon's shirt. Jon scowls at him, letting Brendon's hands go. “Why the fuck do you care, Ryan? You always fucking defend him when he tries to hurt me. You really don’t give a shit about me, do you?”

Ryan stutters on his words and Jon cuts him off before he can form an actual sentence. “You know what? Fuck this shit, keep your coke and stay on your side of the room from now on. I’m sick of being treated like shit. I’ll get a new room and be out of your hair before you can even make it up to me, so there's no use trying. I thought you were better than this.”

Ryan blinks at Jon and says nothing as he walks away. Brendon's still lying on the floor, panting and holding a hand over his heart. “He’s so scary,” the guy whispers, closing his eyes. 

Ryan stares down at him, blinking again to try and focus. “You're batshit crazy, Brendon.”

Brendon's eyes flash open quickly and he looks at Ryan with anger in his gaze. 

Urie sits up and puts a hand over his forehead like he’s got a headache. “And you're an asshole. I was trying to do you a solid.”

“A solid?” Ryan seethes, running both his hands through his hair with a crazed expression. “He’s changing rooms because of you!”

“I was ridding you of the scary man!”

“God you are such a fucking parasite, Brendon Urie.”

“You should be  _ thanking  _ me, you ungrateful piece of shit. I was trying to kill him so he would be out of your hair! I don't get why you’re making such a huge deal out of this. It’s not that deep. I was trying to make you appreciate me!”

“By killing my fucking roomate?”

Brendon goes doe eyed, and he makes an “o” shape with his mouth. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Brendon there is no other way to put it!”

“It sounded better in my head. You don't have to yell at me.”

Ryan sighs and rubs his hands over his face, shuddering. “This guilt tripping shit isn’t going to work on me. Why would you ever think that killing someone would make me  _ appreciate  _ you?” 

“I do-n't know!” Brendon snaps, his voice breaking and tears welling into his eyes. “I desperately want you to care about me, okay? I thought I had no other choice, Ryan! You ignore every advance I make…”

Ryan’s heart shatters. He never meant to make Brendon cry, and seeing him this way pulls at every heart string he has. Brendon’s managed to become his puppeteer. “You could have talked to me, you know…” Ryan sinks to his knees and curls a finger under Brendon's chin. 

“But I was scared, Ryan.” He looks at him with big chocolate eyes and Ryan watches as a tear slips down his cheek. Suddenly, Ryan doesn’t see a crazy person in front of him. He sees a broken, beautiful young man. “I understand, just know I’m not gonna hurt you or anything. You can talk to me.”

Brendon sniffles and pulls back from Ryan. Ryan stands up, and holds a hand down to help him up. 

Brendon looks at Ryan expectantly, and Ryan can't quite make out what it is that he expects from him. “Would you like to do that?” Ryan asks.

“Do wh-what?” 

“Talk. To me, I mean.”

Brendon nods quickly and wraps his arms around himself. “I’d like that, yeah.”

Ryan nods to the table and walks to it, sitting down. He knows Brendon will follow him.

Brendon doesn’t sit across from him like he thought he would, instead he sits beside Ryan and stares at him. Ryan almost feels the need to put clothes on his soul. 

“Hi, I’m Brendon Boyd Urie.”

Ryan scowls, laughing softly. “I know who you are, Brendon.”

Brendon huffs, his face flashing with anguish. “Hi, my name is Brendon Boyd Urie,” he repeats with a sterner tone. 

Ryan decides to go with it, in fear that he might get pelted with nuts like Jon did. “Nice to meet you, Brendon. My name is Ryan Ross.”

Brendon smiles wide, looking almost perfect and like he wasn't crying just a minute ago. Ryan forgets why he thought Brendon wasn't crazy. 

“Hello, Ryan! I usually would beso you, but with the regulations here I'm not sure that would go as smoothly as I'd like.”

He feels fear set in while trying to figure out whatever the fuck he means by ‘beso.’

“Uh, yeah. You too…” 

Brendons eyes get wildly excited. “Really?”

Ryan's horrified at not knowing what it was he just agreed to. Kill? Marry? Knowing the kid, he could have meant far too much. 

Ryan scoots further away. “Yeah, sure.”

Brendon gets a satisfied look on his face. “Anyway, I'm here on a mission.”

_ Dear fucking god.  _ “Y-yeah? What kind of mission are you on, Brendon?”

“Thank you for asking! Oh my god, no one ever asks me that,” he chirps brightfully, grinning ear to ear. “I’m on a mission to save you. I don’t know what brought me here, but it must’ve been fate. I’ve always felt like a drifter in this world, and now with you around it’s like I’ve just- found my place in life, you know? You complete me! I just know that I'm on a mission, and you're  _ part  _ of that mission. Even if I have to dedicate every minute to you for the rest of my life. I think I was genuinely put on this planet, and hell, maybe even  _ other planets,  _ to serve you!”

Ryan gawks at him, completely at a loss for words. Seriously, how did he think he wasn't so crazy earlier?

When Brendon seems to get the hint that Ryan isn't flattered by this information, he grunts aggressively. “God dammit, this is why I knew I couldn’t talk to you!” he shouts, crossing his arms poutily.

“N-no I’m listening! Hey, I’m listening. Calm down.”

Brendon relaxes slightly and sighs, “Where even was I?”

“Something about you feeling like you were born to serve me?”

“That's not what I said!” he snaps, then suddenly smiles. “I said I was put on this planet to serve you. Never did I imply I was born.”

Ryan looks at the floor that's still covered in peanuts. “Yeah, sorry, that- Sorry for assuming you were born, Brendon.”

“Thank you. I hate when people assume things about me like that. Anywayyy, yeah! I think, no,  _ know,  _ I’m here to serve you. So, seriously, if there's anything you need or whatnot, I’m here for it!”

Ryan looks up to those weirdly hopeful eyes and, really, how can he turn him down? Free assistant? Sounds wonderful, and totally foolproof. “Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.” Just then, one of Ryan's brilliant ideas sounds off in his head, and he thinks of all the things he can get away with if Brendon does them on his behalf. "I'm sure I'll be able to think of something for you to do."


	6. Chapter 6

Some days go by after The Situation™️ and Brendon has already learned more about Ryan than he has anyone else in his life. He’d say he’s in love with him, but he’s not too certain on what love is. Maybe it’s just an infatuation, an obsession. Brendon doesn’t know. He just knows that he likes Ryan’s hands, and how Ryan smiles at him, and how Ryan smells in the mornings when they eat together in the cafeteria. He loves how Ryan holds his hand when no one's looking, or how he kisses his cheek when they’re alone. Brendon really cares about the guy, probably an unhealthy amount, but he knows that he wouldn’t fixate on him if he wasn’t worth his time.

All the patients have been gathered in the common room, and Dr. Wentz is explaining something about a budget increase and how they’ve been working to get things in place for the patient's rehabilitation to be aided. “Treadmills to help upkeep a healthy lifestyle and get you on the right track,” Wentz reads off his clipboard, “a whirlpool, mainly for new patients to deal with withdrawal symptoms. A coffee pot, that’s in the faculty lounge though...” Brendon doesn’t hear the rest. He looks over at Ryan, who’s across the room looking at his fingernails. He smiles, admiring how Ryan’s eyebrows move in concentration. Ryan looks up from his spot and meets Brendon's eyes, quickly matching his smile. 

Ryan makes a gesture and fans at his face, he then draws a circle in the air with a questioning expression. Brendon frowns and purses his lips, trying to figure out what Ryan means.

Finally when he realizes that Brendon isn’t getting it he mouths out “hot tub” and quirks a brow.

Brendon laughs at him, nodding.

——--

“I just think that a hot tub would be like, human soup. That cannot be good.”

“Maybe it’ll be good if we could get to it before everyone else,” Brendon suggests, spooning a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth. 

Ryan laughs softly and wipes at the corner of Brendon’s mouth. “You had a little...”

Ryan looks up and sees Brendon staring at him and they lock eyes. “Yeah?” Brendon asks, still looking in Ryan’s eyes even when he pulls his hand away.

Ryan closes his eyes and laughs, opening them again. “Sorry, I got dazed. Hey could you put my tray up for me?”

Brendon pouts, the hope in his eyes leaving. “But I don’t wanna get up. What if people stare at me?”

“Brendon don’t be a little bitch. The only reason that people are gonna look at you is for your multiple personalities.”

He scowls, a sudden pain filling his heart. “You’re such a fucking douche,” he says venomously with gritted teeth. He stands up abruptly and grabs Ryan’s tray, stacking it atop his own. He picks up a cucumber from Ryan's half eaten salad and throws it at Ryan who just laughs and says, “Dude, c’mon, I was joking!”

Brendon's already halfway to the drop off line when he processes what Ryan says, and by the time he returns, he’s already got a plan to make Ryan Ross fall in love with him, since obviously his kindness and attention aren’t doing the trick.

“You still throwing a hissy fit?”

Brendon purses his lips and flips Ryan off, his jaw set tightly. 

“Awww, is princess gonna cry?”

Brendon curls his hands into fists and looks away from Ryan, breathing in and out evenly.

“Sorry that I can’t make all of your psycho ass personalities happy every goddamn second. I hate how fucking clingy you are Brendon. You act like we’re fucking married.” 

Brendon stands up and he slaps the man right across the cheek. “Fuck you, Ryan,” he says harshly, walking off to go back to his room.

Along the way, he sees the round-faced guard from his solitary cell. He smirks, his plan to make Ryan fall in love with him coming back to the front of his mind. 

He practically skips up the guard. “I heard there’s a new hot tub?” 

“Yeah. Opens tomorrow. You have to be medically prescribed access to it though.”

“Oh,” Brendon pouts, “I was really hoping I could go tonight. That would be so fun.”

The guard looks at him like he’s delusional, but Brendon says, “I was gonna really make it worth someone’s while, if I could go after hours. Technically all someone would need to do is have the hot tub on and leave the door unlocked for me… Hell, I’d even exchange goods to have someone do that.”

The guy looks interested and says, “What would you exchange in a place like this where you have nothing.”

“My mouth, or well, hand and mouth. Interchangeable.” He bites his lip, looking at the burly man with innocent eyes. “I’ve got a real quick tongue and no gag reflex,” he lies.

The guard sighs and looks around the hall to make sure no one sees and he gestures Brendon into a janitor's closet.

_ That was easier than I thought _ , he thinks, _ step one done, easy riding from here. _

———

Brendon seriously had no intention of them skinny dipping, but when Ryan pulls his underwear down past his ass he can’t help himself but do the same. The cool night air makes him shiver and wrap his arms around himself.

“How did you even manage this?” Ryan gawks, sitting on the side of the hot tub and dipping his feet into it. 

The blue lights of the jacuzzi ignite every facial expression that Ryan makes, and Brendon feels himself drowning in Ryan all of a sudden. 

“Eh, just some stuff,” he whispers and watches as Ryan lowers himself into the hot tub with a hiss. 

Brendon’s anxious, honestly, not because he’s naked or afraid his plan won’t work, but because of the heat. 

His plan is to sweet talk Ryan and charm him while Ryan’s under the influence of the  _ hot tub _ , which will hopefully escalate into them at least getting to properly kiss for the first time. 

Brendon’s a simpleton, he really doesn’t want much but he does know two things for sure: he wants love, and he wants it from Ryan Ross. 

He steps into the tub, sitting down and suddenly getting a wave of self consciousness. “Ugh fuck,” he groans, slipping down further into the water to where he’s almost laying down. His raven hair just slightly getting wet in the back.

He looks up at the stars and he smiles, forcing himself to relax. “This feels so nice. I wish we had some champagne or something. Music maybe.”

“Some bubbly and a hot tub? Sounds romantic,” Ryan muses, and Brendon turns his head to look at him. 

Ryan’s always beautiful, but in this lighting he looks ethereal. Brendon can’t stop staring at him.

“I think it’s already romantic, but maybe I’m just a sap.”

“Nah, I can see how it could be interpreted that way.” Brendon gets that hopeful look in his eyes again and he hopes that means what he thinks it does. 

“You know what would make it even more romantic?” Brendon enthuses, “If you kissed me like I’m pretty.”

The other man laughs and says, “You  _ are  _ pretty, though.” 

His cheeks tint pink and he closes his eyes, “Then kiss me.” 

Ryan stands up and sits closer to Brendon, resting a hand on his knee. He hovers down over Brendon’s face and presses his lips to Brendon’s softly. 

It’s hard not to smile when he kisses Ryan back, but he manages to keep his cool.

Brendon keeps his eyes closed even when Ryan pulls back from him. He doesn’t need to see to know that Ryan’s staring at him. “You look insanely gorgeous tonight, Bren.”

Brendon furrows his brows a little and he sits up, eyes wide and his neck and shoulders now out of the water. “Why are you talking like that? You never talk to me like that. If you want me to do something for you just ask I really don’t want to be called names again Ry-”

Ryan smiles fondly and he leans closer to Brendon, kissing his cheek. “I just say it because it’s true and I’ve treated you unfairly. I know I have. I thought about how I acted earlier, and I felt really bad. You deserve better than I’ve treated you. You’re a good-ish person and I’ve taken advantage of how you care about me, and I’m sorry.”

Brendon’s eye twitches and he looks down. “Thank you, I know that had to be hard to say. It means a lot to me.  _ You _ mean a lot to me.” He looks up at him and he bites his lip shyly.

Ryan lunges at him, cupping his face and kissing him aggressively. All of Brendon’s breath escapes him and he melts against Ryan’s touch. 

When Ryan’s tongue slips into his mouth he moans, his hips involuntarily pushing up like he’s begging for something. 

Ryan pulls his lips away to trail kisses down the other man's jaw and neck. “Thank you for taking me out here. It’s really nice to get to spend alone time with you. It’s been murdering me not being allowed to touch you.”

“You wanna touch me?” Brendon smirks. “Not just tease me like you always do? You gonna actually treat me right?”

“What are you talking about? Those were all days of foreplay leading up to this,” Ryan chuckles.

“Oh please, I don’t even know what  _ this _ is.”

“It’s me wooing you,” Ryan purrs.

“Funny, because I brought you out here to do the same thing to you,” Brendon mumbles, looking at Ryan’s lips.

“No, not that kind of woo.  _ Woooo _ ,” Ryan says at length, making an obscene gesture with his hand. Brendon blushes bright red, and he looks away from him embarrassedly. 

“Getting to know each other  _ that way _ wasn't what I intended on doing when I invited you out here.” 

“But we  _ should _ get to know each other better. Utilize what little alone time we’ve got. Plus, I'm leaving next week and I just-“ 

“Yeah—yeah,” Brendon says breathlessly, “I know. And god that’s all I’ve wanted to do for so long now. But don’t you think this is rushing things?” 

“Brendon you got me hard without even knowing my name.”

Brendon grins and moves closer to Ryan, watching as the man moves to suck at Brendon’s neck. 

“Fine, we can have sex,” Brendon mumbles, tilting his head back. 

Ryan smiles again and nips at Brendon’s collarbone before pulling back completely, much to Brendon’s dismay. “Come sit on my lap.”

Brendon pouts and he moves to climb into Ryan’s lap as told. He arches his back and looks down at Ryan with dark eyes. “You make me feel like a special whore.” 

Ryan laughs softly and he nuzzles Brendon’s cheek with his own, wrapping his arms tightly around the smaller man's waist. “Oh baby you have no idea just how special you really are.” Brendon can feel his heart swell, and Ryan makes a surprised noise when Brendon crushes their mouths together, but he kisses him and slides his hands up his back. Brendon whimpers delightedly when he feels Ryan’s nails dig into his shoulder blades. “It’s gonna hurt like this, in the water.”

“We could fuck on the pavement if you’re gonna get picky, Bren.” His voice is gravelly when he says, “I’ll make it good for you.”

He grunts and rolls his eyes. Ryan pushes Brendon off of him and goes to kiss Brendon’s chest, his tongue circling around a nipple. “Mm fuck, that feels good,” he shivers. Ryan keeps going down and down until he’s under the water, crouched. He opens his mouth slightly before taking the tip of Brendon's cock into his mouth. Brendon moans languidly, pushing a hand into Ryan's hair. He can already feel himself getting hard as Ryan licks at his slit. Ryan comes up for air a few seconds later and Brendon’s already half hard. Ryan gasps air and kisses up Brendon’s chest, wrapping his fingers around Brendon’s shaft. He starts jerking him off without much intention, and he goes on for so long that Brendon can feel himself getting close. 

“Sir, I need you,” he whispers, pushing Ryan back against the tub. He sits back on Ryan’s lap, moving his hips down against Ryan's. “You have no clue how bad I need you inside of me.”

Ryan gasps, biting Brendon’s lip and pulling him closer. Despite Brendon’s soft noise of protest with the biting, Ryan moves to suck and bite at Brendon’s neck. He shudders, murmuring quiet pleas for Ryan to hurry up, but Ryan keeps going, one hand tracing down the slight curve of Brendon’s spine. Once his hand is to Brendon’s lower back he drops it, cupping Brendon’s firm ass. Brendon’s nearly shaking and the more Ryan touches his skin the more electrified he feels. 

Ryan bites down roughly under Brendon’s ear and Brendon cries out quietly, begging, “N-no Ryan please hurry, please, I need you so bad-I-“ His breathing picks up when Ryan’s finger presses against his asshole, and he fights to urge to not push himself against him. 

Brendon curses and his toes curl as Ryan’s finger circles his hole. He moves his arms out of the water to grip onto the back edge of the hot tub behind Ryan’s head and he gulps dryly. Ryan pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, and Brendon can’t even complain about the discomfort of doing this without a lubricant. 

As he feels Ryan slip his long finger deeper inside, he begins to wonder why they didn’t do this sooner. 

“God f-fuck I already feel full,” he laughs and pants.

“It’s because you’re needy,” Ryan murmurs, pressing wet kisses to Brendon’s jaw. “If you’re this wild for a finger I can’t fucking wait to see how dazed you get with my cock inside of you.”

“Well If you’d hurry you'll know soon-  _ ohgoodgod, _ ” he moans languidly when Ryan pushes against his prostate. 

Brendon’s hips involuntarily move against Ryan's hand. “Now now, don’t get greedy,” Ryan teases, pulling his finger nearly out. “Greedy boys don’t get shit.” He slides his finger in again and Urie closes his eyes, biting his lip and trying to keep as quiet as possible.

He’s doing good for a few minutes before Ryan pushes in the second finger. It isn’t even that it hurts, because he wants it badly enough that the pain is more than bearable. It’s that he likes it too much. Ryan has to put a finger against Brendon’s mouth to silence him, and Brendon complies because there’s no way in hell someone’s ruining this right now.

The smaller man’s thighs begin to shake when Ryan massages his prostate and he whispers countless begs for Ryan to just fuck him already.

Ryan only takes the bait when his cock is hot and hard between them. By that point, Brendon’s already been prepped with three fingers and he’s honestly close to tears from his want. “Ryan please, please,” he begs, groaning when the fingers pull out of him. “I need you so fucking bad, Ry ple-a-se,” his voice breaks and Ryan kisses him softly, grabbing his hips. He pulls Brendon closer to him and he reaches down for his length. Brendon watches Ryan anxiously and he lifts his ass up for easier access.

Brendon’s sure someone can hear how loud he moans when Ryan pushes into him. He can’t even help his volume anymore. His mind is fucked and his morals have left the building. 

“Ride me, baby, yeah like that, nice and slow... Mmmgood boy,” Ryan encourages. Brendon secures his hands on the man’s shoulders and moves his hips in small seductive motions. Ryan places kisses on Brendon’s shoulder and he grunts when Brendon pulls up on his cock and slides back down onto him. “Such a good fucking boy.”

Brendon moans at the praise and picks up his speed a bit. “I’m so fucking f-ull. You’re so thick.” 

Ryan thrusts his hips up into Brendon, splashing water out of the hot tub. Brendon doubles over slightly, getting caught off guard and he takes a sharp intake of breath. 

“Fucking hell you feel so good baby. God you’re tight.” He arches his back and slides his hands down Ryan’s chest. Ryan smiles and thrusts up again, making Brendon cry out and squeeze his eyes closed. “You're killing me,” he growls in a deep voice.

Brendon’s legs are trembling with the effort of lifting himself up, and resorts to making small circles with his hips as he takes deep breaths of the chill night air. 

“Keep going Brendon you got this,” Ryan encourages, his grip on Brendon’s hips guiding him to move again. Brendon grunts in a slightly high pitched tone and squeezes his eyes closed again when he pulls himself back up. 

He continues on for a few minutes, riding Ryan to the best of his ability before Ryan grasps his hips and flips them over, pressing Brendon into the wall of the tub painfully.

“F-uck!” Brendon moans, looking at Ryan with a dark glare, but Ryan quickly makes his mood change when he angles to hit his prostate. He’s thrusting harder than Brendon was riding him, and the friction is almost too good. 

Brendon arches his back again and takes Ryan deep deep deep, sounding out his pleasure each time Ryan thrusts into him. “Take it—fuck—there you go, use your hips, that’s my good boy.” 

Brendon can feel his orgasm bubbling in the pit of his stomach and he stutters out, “C-can I touch myself?”

Ryan nods and Brendon’s fingers are quick to wrap around his shaft. He strokes himself in the tempo of Ryan's hips. Everything’s going great until Ryan pulls out. 

Brendon’s face falls because he immediately thinks he did something wrong, but he quickly understands when Ryan pulls Brendon up and flips him around. Brendon assumes his position, gripping the tub again and pushing his ass out for Ryan. Ryan laughs low and says close to Brendon’s ear, “Good dog.”

Brendon rolls his eyes and shakes his ass as an invitation. “Shut up and fuck me, Ryan Ross.”

Ryan groans and presses his cock against Brendon’s hole, slowly pushing in. He turns his head to look at Ryan and smiles when he sees the look of pleasure on the man's face. Ryan drops his hips tightly and he starts pounding Brendon, grunting occasionally.

Ryan’s noises are like candy to him and he basks in the sound, tightening his hold on the tub so he doesn’t fall. He can feel the man's hands shake and he knows that Ryan’s getting close so he moans out, “I want you to fill me up with your cum, sir... I wanna feel you slip out of me.”

Ryan moans loudly and reaches around Brendon to stroke his cock. “Will do.”

When Ryan hits his prostate from this angle he nearly screams. “Ohfuck-fuckplease, harder, please,” he rushes out, his arms shaking and his hands barely able to even grip the wet hot tub anymore from lack of strength. 

Ryan does as told, pounding Brendon harder and splashing water all over the place. Brendon hangs his head and he arches his back more to make Ryan slip deeper. “Fuck I’m gonna come.” Ryan keeps stroking his cock, rubbing his thumb against his slit. “Jesus fucking god, Ryan please I’m gonna-ah,” he cries out one last time before coming in Ryan’s hand, his cum shooting into the water. Ryan strokes him through his orgasm and fucks him faster. When he starts to come, Brendon can feel the warmth fill him more than he already was. He shakes, meeting Ryans sporadic thrusts. 

Ryan puts his face against the back of Brendon’s neck, slowly coming to a stop as he pulls out. 

Brendon hisses, rising up onto his knees. “Fuck Ry,” he whispers, shivering when Ryan places a kiss to his shoulder.

“Mm you did so good, baby. That was fun. Thank you for taking me out here.” 

Brendon laughs softly and leans his head back against Ryan’s shoulder, “That was so much better than I imagined.”

Ryan dances his fingers across Brendon’s stomach, holding him from behind. “I’m glad we got to do that before I get out next week.” 

Brendon stiffens up, closing his eyes. “We don’t need to talk about that right now.”

Ryan nods slowly, kissing Brendon’s jaw. “One day you’re gonna understand just how important you are, and when that day comes, I wanna be there to see it. I’m not gonna just leave you Bren. You’re worth waiting for. I’ll wait as long as I have to.”

Brendon isn’t sure if he should believe him or not, but he relaxes with the hope.


End file.
